


Simply Irresistible - The Secret History of Neal Caffrey

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Secret History of Neal Caffrey [8]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), White Collar
Genre: Angst, Crossover, F/M, Future Fic, Grief, Harry Hart is Dead (still), Implied Relationships, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Non-Canon Compliant to The Golden Circle, Red Herrings, Roxy-Eggsy Friendship, This explains Neal Caffrey and his extraordinary and amazing skills, Undercover, false identities, honeypot mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Merlin has a small assignment for Roxy and Eggsy after the vote to make Neal Caffrey the new Tristan.  He needs them to get hold of the cell phone of one George Deschanel, a museum security expert who might be planning to rob the museums he's working for.  It's a good thing George is in London for the evening.Meanwhile, Neal Caffrey's stuck in a pub, waiting for Merlin - and the good (hopefully) news about his future with Kingsman.  Merlin doesn't show, but a rather tasty young man named Eddie Upton is eager to become friends, as is Eddie's friend, Ronnie Martin.Neal's not quite sure just what game the two of them are playing, but he'll play along - just by his own rules.Merlin hasn't had this much fun in a very long time.





	Simply Irresistible - The Secret History of Neal Caffrey

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up immediately after [A Seat At the Table](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12371088). The scenes between Neal and Eggsy and Roxy where the ones that actually sparked this series. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I've enjoyed writing.
> 
> The title is from the Robert Palmer classic of the same name, and although the [1988 MTV music video](https://youtu.be/UrGw_cOgwa8) makes the song indelibly heterosexual, to me it's always been on my Peter/Neal playlist.

"Lancelot, Galahad, I have a small assignment for the pair of ye." Merlin pushes data from his tablet to the large monitor that usually masquerades as a hunting scene. "Yer target is George Deschanel, an Anglo-French security expert who has been working for several museums in Paris for the last two years. Although he has no criminal record, we have reason to believe he's actually planning to rob them."

Merlin adds a photograph to the information on the monitor and enjoys the gape-mouthed expressions on Eggsy's and Roxy's faces. Neal Caffrey is, objectively speaking, one of the most beautiful men ever born.

"We're still in the early stages of this, so yer assignment is to get Deschanel's phone and clone the data without him being the wiser. Ye'll have a very brief window – he's in London tonight for a meeting – quite possibly with his partner in crime – and ye'll need to make your move before he gets back on a plane to Paris."

Merlin dons his best poker face as he answers his Knights' questions. He's not sure how this is going to play out, but he's definitely going to enjoy watching.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"So, how do you want to do this?" Eggsy has his own ideas, but he'd rather hear Roxy's first.

The pair of them are tucked into a remote corner of the vast library at Kingsman HQ. Eggsy had discovered this nook when he'd been a candidate and claimed it as his own. Not that he's superstitious or anything, but Eggsy can't help but feel that if he doesn't plan his missions here, in this quiet space, he's going to fail. 

Roxy sighs. "I was going to ask _you_ that." She looks at her tablet, flicking through the minimal data that Merlin's provided. "There's not a lot to go on, here. Deschanel has a sterling rep in museum security, there's nothing to suggest that he's planning on robbing them. Nothing but that one email exchange he had with Gerard Dorsett to put him on the radar."

Eggsy reads through the small bio on Dorsett. Art thief and loan shark with the occasional violent tendencies. Also a suspect in several recent gallery heists in New York and London, all using inside connections. Kingsman had been watching the man for a few years, but had never gotten anything concrete on him. Eggsy has to wonder why this is being pushed as priority now, only ten months after V-Day. But Merlin - _Arthur_ \- must have his reasons. Perhaps Dorsett is tied to something bigger. "Seems like a bit of a leap for Dorsett, too. He's kind of small time – never gone after museums before. And you're right about Deschanel - he's got a clean record – nothing to indicate that he's planning on robbing the museums he's been hired to protect."

"Yeah. Other the email between setting up a meet for tonight, there's nothing that connects them. But it also doesn't make sense that Dorsett would be contacting Deschanel about a meeting if they aren't planning something." Roxy is, as always, the voice of calm logic. 

Eggsy agrees, but something doesn't feel quite right about this. "It could be nothing – maybe they're cousins or something? Old friends getting together for a pint? Lovers long parted?"

Roxy chuckles at that last one. "Anything's possible. I guess that's why we're tapped to do recon. Get the phone and clone it so Merlin's team can do a deep dive. Maybe it's time to put that NLP training to good use." 

Eggsy's not a hundred percent thrilled with that idea. He'd done all right with the training, but his field work is less about seduction and more about making sure the world doesn't go to hell, which usually means a gun or a knife or a one-way trip off the roof of a building. Kingsman has honed his skills as a killer, not a lover. But George Deschanel is gorgeous and it probably would be a good idea to get in some practice with the softer side of his training. "I guess."

"So, honeypot?" Roxy's grinning at him. "Tag team him?"

Eggsy doesn't have to pretend to be shocked. While Roxy's skills are equally fierce as his, her assignments since V-Day have been of the diplomatic kind, requiring her to use her words, not her body . "Lancelot! I'm surprised at you. I thought you'd have a bit more subtlety than that."

"Come on, Eggs – just take a look at him. For a face like that, I can feel my place on the Kinsey scale moving a bit closer to zero."

Eggsy does have to agree. George Deschanel is one of the handsomest men he'd ever seen. Hell, beautiful is more like it. "Yeah – definitely making me glad I'm at the other end of that scale."

"So, that's how we do this?" Roxy bites her lip. "You or me and Georgie-boy in a bed?" Before Eggsy can answer, Roxy adds, "Although I'd pay real money to see you in action with him."

A hot flush covers Eggsy from belly to scalp, so bright he wonders if he's glowing like a neon sign. "Let's go with something more conventional, first."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Silver Hare is indistinguishable from just about every other pub in London; old wood, old decor, a mix of locals and tourists. Since the neighborhood is upscale, just a block from Russell Square, both the locals and the tourists are better dressed and more demanding. Neal's positioned himself at the bar, his seat angled so he can see people coming and going from the mirror behind the bar. It's an old trick, but one that's saved his ass on occasion – like that time in Lyon where he'd spotted Peter and made it out the back door before Peter had seen him.

_Those were the days…_

But there are no cat-and-mouse games with Peter Burke on the agenda for tonight, and they'll never be on the agenda for on any night ever again. If all goes as well as Merlin's promised, Neal's remaking himself one last time. Neal Caffrey, con-man will cease to exist. He'll be replaced by Neal Caffrey, Kingsman.

The process has already begun. Since Neal had closed up shop in Paris and settled in London – ironically, not too far from where he'd lived as Nick Halden, professional gambler, money-launderer and occasional fuck-buddy with Harry DeVere – Merlin's been putting him through his paces. And what Merlin's asked of him has been far more challenging than any of Neal's original Kingsman training. 

Back when he'd been Harry's proposal for the open Tristan slot, there had been other candidates and a strong emphasis on teamwork. Hell, that had been impressed upon the entire group the first night of training when the bunk room had flooded. While Neal had been picking the lock on the only exit door and a few of the other candidates had created toilet snorkels, one of their number had nearly drowned. Which had earned them all a very stern lecture from Merlin about how essential teamwork would be for their success. 

There's been nothing like that this time around. No teamwork, no fellow candidates, no cooperative challenges. It's just been Neal Caffrey, lone wolf. 

But that's really not quite true either, because the work that Merlin's given him with isn't the kind that would benefit from teamwork. Other than a few physical tests – endurance, firearms, and a pathetic and pain-filled day of hand-to-hand sparring with The Incredible Hulk's younger brother – all of the assignments have been cerebral in nature. Neal's reviewing and analyzing mission scenarios, assessing hypothetical threats, translations, budget and resource planning, case studies, reviewing and dissecting after-action reports. 

At first, Neal had thought that these assignments were retreads of candidate training exercises, but soon enough, he sees hints of things – bits of real-time information – that make him certain that he's working on actual Kingsman mission data. On one hand, he's rather amused that Merlin is using him to do _his_ paperwork, but on the other, he's also moved by the level of trust Merlin's giving him. Kingsman isn't a government agency and isn't bound by the Official Secrets Act or other confidentiality laws. Neal _could_ use the information for his own purposes without any real legal repercussions – although doing that would be self-defeating, considering that Neal's trying to prove himself worthy on a Kingsman knighthood.

As the weeks pass, Merlin begins to ask Neal to put together complex undercover operations – creating mission scenarios from start to finish in increasingly limited timeframes. After Neal completes each task, Merlin spends hours challenging Neal's results, throwing new data and unexpected situations at him, demanding that Neal think quickly, solve the problem immediately – as if someone's life is – or will be – on the line.

Neal wouldn't be surprised to find out that that had been the case.

But now that's come to an end. This afternoon, Merlin had contacted him and told him that his position in Kingsman – his seat at the table – is coming up for a vote. 

Which is why he's here, in a pub a few blocks from his apartment in Bloomsbury, waiting to meet with Merlin and get the good news. Or perhaps, just _the_ news. Neal shivers. Suddenly, this feels way too much like his commutation hearing, and then Peter's promise of an early release. Everything can still go so very wrong.

The door opens and Neal glances at the mirror. It's not Merlin, but a young man who's entered the pub. Neal makes a quick assessment and finds the newcomer … interesting. He's young, early-to-mid-twenties, but wearing a very conservative and very bespoke suit that few twenty-year-olds could afford and a boring tie of equally astronomic quality; the man's hair is smoothed down with a good-quality product and his face is framed by black-rimmed glasses that do nothing to detract from the man's overall stunning good looks complete the picture. Not aristocratic, though – not with that build and jaw-line. What Neal finds more interesting that the clothes and the symmetry of the man's face is the confidence in his stance that speaks of a position earned, not inherited. 

In a way, Neal can see a bit of Peter in the tilt of the man's head, the lazy strength in his shoulders.

Neal watches the newcomer in the mirror as he looks around the pub, the arrogance in his expression shifting into something that might be frustration. As he approaches the bar, Neal drops his gaze – back to the very mediocre glass of scotch he's been nursing all evening.

"Anyone sitting here?"

Neal's a little surprised by the accent; it's Received Pronunciation, but by way of working class London. 

"No, be my guest." Neal's own accent is crisp, there's no trace of the Missouri twang that had given him away to Harry all those years ago. The last two years in France have lent his own RP a bit of Parisian flair.

"Thanks." 

Neal turns back to his observation via the mirror, and to his surprise, the man now sitting next to him meets his gaze in the glass and gives him a rueful smile. The man explains, "I had a friend, he told me that I should never sit with my back to the door unless I could see who's coming up behind me."

Moz had given him the same advice soon after they'd met. Neal sighs at the memory, at the ever present sense of loss. "Sounds a bit paranoid." 

"He had his reasons."

It's clear that Neal's new companion is looking to strike up a conversation, which certainly isn't out of the ordinary in a bar filled with convivial people. But there's something that's setting Neal's gut rumbling – a feeling that he's being targeted. This very well could be another test – he wouldn't put it past Merlin to throw a curveball at him, even at this stage. 

So Neal plays along. "Had?"

"Yeah." The man gives a small, sad sigh. "And in the end, it didn't even matter."

"V-Day?" Neal doesn't even know why he even makes that a question.

"He saw it coming, death hit him in the face – literally." 

"I'm sorry."

The man shrugs. "It's okay. Or it will be. Time heals? Isn't that the expression?"

"I guess." Neal grimaces. It's an expression he's come to loathe.

"By the way – I'm Eddie Upton." Eddie holds out his hand.

If this is a test that Merlin's set up, it's possible that "Eddie" knows of Neal's aliases. Neal takes Eddie's hand, notes the gun calluses, and introduces himself, picking a name without giving it too much thought. "Peter Stone, pleasure to meet you."

"Peter, pleased to meet you, too." Eddie gives him a look, one that could be interpreted in many different ways, but his question is fairly innocuous. "Is this your local?"

Neal shakes his head. "No, not really. A friend had recommended it, though."

"But you're not thrilled?"

"Not in the least. This – " Neal holds up his glass, "is supposed to be ten year old Ardbeg. It might have been tossed in a bin next to an empty bottle of Ardbeg, once. But it's not actually Ardbeg. More like watered down Johnnie Walker Red."

"I'm more of a gin man myself." Eddie summons the bartender and places a ridiculous order. "Martini. Gin, not vodka, obviously. Stirred for no more and no less than ten seconds while glancing at an unopened bottle of vermouth from across the room."

Neal can't help but grin and Eddie notices. "What's so funny? I like my martinis dry."

"You and Alfred Hitchcock. Or Winston Churchill, depending on who you ask."

"Huh?" Eddie's definitely confused.

"That bit about glancing at vermouth bottle from across the room when making a martini? Some people claim that's Winston Churchill's recipe, others say it's Alfred Hitchcock's."

Eddie gets the strangest expression on his face. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope, not at all. You can look it up."

Eddie's frowning. "I don't believe it." He shakes his head. "Not calling you a liar or anything, but …"

"It's the truth, I swear." Neal doesn't know why Eddie's so upset. Perhaps this is all part of the game. "You look betrayed."

"Yeah, Peter. I am betrayed."

 _Peter…_ Neal instantly regrets picking "Peter Stone" as an alias. "Why?"

"The man who taught me how to make martinis told me that bit about glancing at the unopened vermouth bottle. I thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever heard. But he'd just cribbed it from someone else."

Neal can understand that. After all, he'd spent a lifetime copying other people's works. "I'm sorry, but it's still cool."

Eddie laughs. "I must sound like such an utter knob."

"Not in the least. Are you trying to impress me?"

Eddie gives him that look again, but this time the intent is clear. "Perhaps."

Neal smiles, giving Eddie the grin that Diana had always called "devious". He almost hopes that Eddie isn't one of Merlin's plants. He's young and fit and very pretty and it's been a long while since Neal's felt the urge to top.

Eddie grins back. "Are you waiting for anyone? The friend who recommended this place?"

"I am, but I have the feeling he's not going to show. He's an hour late. What about you?"

"Actually, I'm waiting on a mate of mine." Eddie checks his watch – and like the suit at tie, it's high quality but understated. "Hmmm, she's late, too."

Now Neal's not so sure that Eddie's been flirting with him. "She?"

"Yeah. Ronnie – she's my best mate. We work together, play together."

Neal's curiosity's piqued. "Work? What do you do?"

"Stockbroker – I like playing with other people's money." 

Eddie must be rather good at it, given his expensive but oddly boring taste in clothes and accessories. Except that Neal is almost certain that Eddie Upton is no more of a stockbroker than Neal is. But before Neal can tease out more information, Eddie pulls out his phone and makes a face. "Shit. Fucking battery died."

"Hate when that happens." Neal's gut is twitching again. This is where the game is going to get interesting.

"Any chance I could borrow yours?" And the twitching has become a full rumble.

Neal shakes his head – his phone never leaves his hand. Eddie looks like he's about to beg, and Neal sees no reason why he shouldn't turn the tables on Eddie and take advantage of the situation. "What have you got?" 

Eddie holds up the latest iPhone model, not unlike Neal's own. 

"How about I give you a boost?" Neal reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a charger and cord. "This should work just fine."

Eddie wavers for just a second and accepts Neal's offer. "Thanks, mate. Need to find out if Ronnie's going to get here any time soon. She works the arbitrage desk and has been muttering about the renminbi versus the won for the last few weeks."

Neal feels like he's being teased – that Eddie's casting out some tasty lures, hoping he'll bite. If this is a setup, it's possible that Merlin's told him to go after Nick Halden, who had been a rather successful banker and money launderer. If Eddie's here to test him, then this just might be his play. "I tend to stay out of the Asian currency markets. A little too high-risk for my tastes."

"What do you do for a living, Pete?"

Neal tries not to wince, but perhaps the diminutive is better than being called "Peter". But regardless of the name that Eddie's using, Neal's not giving anything away. "A little of this, a little of that."

"That sounds intriguing." The bartender finally delivers Eddie's martini, and from Eddie's expression when he takes a sip, it's not what he'd asked for.

"Too much vermouth?"

"You could say that, mate." Eddie makes a face. "It's not even gin, but cheap-ass vodka."

Eddie's cell phone lets out a tiny, satisfied buzz. "Looks like you've got enough of a charge to check up on your friend."

Eddie goes to disconnect it from Neal's battery pack, but Neal stops him. "Leave it connected when you make the call – otherwise it'll die again."

"Ta – you're the best, Pete."

Neal just smiles. His little battery pack might be feeding Eddie's phone, but it's also sucking the data out of it, too. Mozzie hadn't been able to improve the transfer rates before he'd died, so it'll take a few more minutes to extract everything. Neal hopes he's not downloading a collection of porn and dating apps.

Neal pretends not to listen as Eddie calls his friend and has a quick conversation. 

"She's on her way – should be here in a few." Eddie continues to work on his horrendous martini, making faces with every sip. "So – what does 'a little of this – a little of that' mean?"

Neal shrugs. "Just what I said. A little of this, a little of that."

Eddie gives him a friendly glare and drops his voice to a stage whisper. "Are you a _spy_? If you tell me what you really do, will you have to kill me?"

Neal's hard-pressed not to burst out laughing. He leans deep into Eddie's personal space. "Does that turn you on?"

Eddie's eyes darken and he licks his lips. Neal's tempted to take Eddie home and spread him out like an eagle, even if he is one of Merlin's people.

"Hey, Eddie – sorry I'm late. But it looks like you've made a new friend."

Eddie pulls back as if someone's just yanked on his collar. "Hey, Ronnie!"

Neal's immediate impression of Eddie's "best mate" is that she's no more a banker than Eddie is. It's not the designer dress or the shoes or the flawless makeup and underplayed accessories. Or even the smooth and feminine hairstyle that might not play well in the finance industry. Nor is it Ronnie's accent – there's no mistaking that this woman is well-bred, with aristocratic connections – it's in her voice, her carriage, the way she meets Neal's eye.

What tells Neal that Ronnie – like Eddie – isn't what she seems is her glasses. A woman who has taken such pains with her appearance wouldn't be caught dead wearing such unstylish glasses. As Eddie introduces him as Peter Stone, Neal meets Ronnie's gaze and looks through the glasses.

They're planos, eyeglasses without any magnification factor in the lenses. Neal's quite familiar with them – having used them in various jobs and assignments with the FBI when he needed to project a certain type of personality. But the ones that Ronnie's wearing do not fit with the persona she's projecting – young, stylish, smart in ways that have nothing to do with intelligence and everything to do with society.

Neal has to wonder if these glasses are Merlin's gadgets. Probably, except that he doesn't see Merlin providing contracted assets with such sophisticated tech. Well, he always does enjoy solving a good puzzle.

"So, Peter – what brings you to The Silver Hare?" Ronnie's a bit flirtatious, which isn't unexpected.

"Not the quality of the liquor, that's for sure." Eddie answers for Neal.

"Waiting for a friend who hasn't shown, and probably won't." Neal glances over at Eddie. "But the wait has been … pleasing, nonetheless." Neal's not averse to letting Ronnie – and perhaps Merlin – know where his interests might lie, as if he's actually falling for this game. 

Eddie blushes rather delightfully. But Ronnie's smile reminds him of Rachel Turner's when he'd convinced her that he'd fallen in love with her. 

"What do you do, Peter?" Ronnie puts a well-manicured hand on his arm. She's definitely still flirting with him.

"Like I told your friend, a little of this, a little of that."

Eddie smirks. "That means he's a spy, luv. If he tells us, he'll have to kill us." 

Ronnie laughs but her eyes give her away. "You don't look like a spy."

"No?" Neal's laugh is as light and fake as his companions'. "How do spies look?"

That seems to stymie Ronnie and she looks to Eddie for assistance. Eddie decides to play stupid.

Neal takes pity on the pair and changes the subject. "So, Eddie tells me you work in currency arbitrage."

"I do."

Neal waits for Ronnie to elaborate – a complaint, a triumph, something. But she adds nothing to her two-word statement. So it's going to be up to Neal to draw her out. "That a hard market – Eddie says you focus on the Far East?"

Ronnie gives her friend a dirty look, but she's all smiles when she answers Neal. "Are you looking for any tips?"

"Oh, certainly not! I wouldn't want you to get in trouble. Insider trading is such a nasty crime. Besides, I keep all my money in guaranteed return annuities. Can't beat half a point compounded annually." He waits for the laughter, and yes, it does come. 

Eddie recovers first. "You really had me going there, Pete."

Neal almost looks over his shoulder, wondering who Eddie's talking to.

When Ronnie signals the bartender and asks for a Chardonnay, Neal and Eddie both wince. Ronnie asks, "What?"

Eddie points to his almost empty martini. "A glass of wine is hard to mess up, but knowing this place, anything's possible." He doesn't see the bartender giving him the stinkeye. Or perhaps he's simply pretending not to notice. "So, what kept you, Ron? You said you'd be out the door at six, sharp."

Ronnie lets out a mournful sigh. "The big boss wanted to bitch about something. I was the designated bitchee."

Eddie sighs, a touch too theatrical. "What was it this time? The Brexit vote? The Scottish Referendum?"

Ronnie shakes her head. "No, V-Day. The asshole just needed to harp on 'Safety and Security'. That was the lesson. How no one can feel safe anymore. That we all took security for granted, and look what happened? I know V-Day was a terrible thing, but we need to move on. Do what we can to stay safe. But security isn't living behind castle walls, or pretending to be an exhibit in a museum." 

_Museum._ With that one word, a lightbulb goes on. For some reason, they are after George Deschanel, his most recent alias. Neal does his best to hide a smirk. Eddie couldn't get to Neal's phone, so they're trying a bit of social engineering. Neal's reminded on the lessons he'd once given Peter, about putting emphasis on key words. It's all basic NLP, something that would never work on him.

Ronnie turns to him, "Peter, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Security. Safety." 

Again, Ronnie's emphasizing the words, and now Neal's certain that they are trying to get him to open up about his work as a security consultant. He shrugs and says in the blandest tone possible, "About the same as the next person? I don't open strange email attachments and avoid downloading porn. I don't think that the Nigerian prince who keeps emailing me is legit and I never accept free SIM cards and mobile service from anyone, ever."

Ronnie slaps at him. "You really are quite the comedian."

Neal plays it serious for a moment. "What do you want me to say? The world is shite and no one's safe? Twenty-two million people died last year in the space of seventy seconds. And it could happen again. But I'm not going to spend the rest of my days hiding from everything that could possible hurt me." Neal smiles a bit, lightening the mood. "That's not a how I want to live, closing myself off from all the good possibilities that the world has to offer." 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "So, you're a happy-go-lucky kind of guy?"

Neal lets his smile broaden and leans back in his seat. "I take my happiness where I can." 

The look that Eddie and Ronnie exchange is nothing short of salacious, and Ronnie put a hand on Neal's thigh. "That seems like an excellent philosophy, Mr. Stone. Do you feel that way about pleasure, too? Taking your pleasures where you can?"

Neal makes a point of looking from Ronnie to Eddie and back again. He cuts right to the chase. "Both of you?"

Ronnie leans in and whispers, "When I arrived, I watched the two of you for a few minutes, before Eddie spotted me. You seemed to find Eddie rather … delectable."

Neal turns to Ronnie, so close he can see the tiny camera lens in her glasses. "You're rather delectable, too."

Eddie's hand falls casually on Neal's knee, drawing his attention back. "Are you game, Pete?"

"Only if you stop calling me Pete. It's a real mood killer."

"You've got a deal, _Peter_." Eddie squeezes his knee twice before letting go. 

Neal gets up, takes out his money clip, and tosses a hundred-pound note on the bar. "Drinks are on me."

As they head out of the bar, Neal asks them where they'd like to go. He's not even pretending that he's taking this pair back to his flat. "The Bloomsbury Hotel on Russell Square is nice."

His companions agree, almost too readily. 

As they pass a chemist, Neal pauses and tilts his head in question. He's always been one for realism in a role, and he's always a gentleman – condoms and lube are a must – even if he's not going to see this through. "Shall I?"

Eddie pats his hand over his breast pocket. "Not necessary, I'm a regular boy scout."

Ronnie holds up her purse. "Girl Guides are always prepared, too."

Neal raises a mental eyebrow. So the pair had always planned that sex would be the endgame. They think that they'll fuck his brains out and clone his phone. Maybe plant a tracker. Why, though? Even if this is a test, what's Merlin's end game here? 

It's a good thing that Neal likes to play games, too. As long as he knows the rules. 

And gets to change them. 

The hotel is just within sight when Neal grimaces and pats at his breast pocket. "Sorry, I have to take this call." 

Eddie and Ronnie both stop and he can see something like avarice in their eyes. Greed for information. 

_Interesting_.

Of course, there's no one on the phone, but Neal can certainly pretend a conversation with the best of them. He turns his back on his companions, but makes sure his voice is pitched so they can hear.

It doesn't take much to muster annoyance with his non-existent caller. "Where were you? I waited for an hour."

Neal completes the other part of the conversation in his head to provide credible timing.

"No, I'm not. I'm pissed. You said to meet you at The Silver Hart near Russell Square at six. I waited for almost two hours and left. This is not how I do business."

Neal pretends to listen for a few more seconds.

"No, I'm not going back there. The scotch is shite. You want to meet, it'll have to be tomorrow. Early."

Neal turns around and looks at Ronnie and Eddie, mouthing _"I'm sorry"_ at them, and grimacing. "Listen, I've got plans. Plans that don't involve you."

He sighs and rolls his eyes. "No, I told you – tomorrow, not tonight."

And another grimace. 

"You're a regular bastard, you know that?" The Dutchman did have some good lines. "I don't care that you're in a rush. My time is valuable, too."

Neal turns away again and drops his tone, but it's still loud enough that Ronnie and Eddie will be able to hear. "All right, tonight. But it's going to cost you."

And the last pause.

"I'll see you there." Neal makes a show of disconnecting the "call" and tucks his phone away – not in his jacket, but in an inside pocket in his waistcoat.

He gives Eddie and Ronnie his best disappointed puppy look. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to bail on you."

Eddie laughs, but he's clearly disappointed. "I guess this is what happens when you do a little of this and a little of that?"

"Yes. Unfortunately."

"Will you be busy _all_ night?" Ronnie puts a hand on his arm, the invitation obvious.

"It seems that way." Neal frowns with a pretense of disappointment, then lifts Ronnie's hand and presses a kiss to it. He pulls her close and tucks her arm behind _his_ waist – a move that has always served him well. "Believe me, I'd much rather be spending my time with you." As he kisses Ronnie – first her neck, then her jaw, and finally her lips, he takes off her watch. He keeps the kiss light, if just because he has the feeling that she's not really interested in him, sexually. And Neal's own interest in Ronnie is just as limited.

But Eddie's another story. If it had been just the two of them, where Neal could have retained control over the scene, he might have brought Eddie home with him. There's something about the man that intrigues Neal and Neal can't quite put his finger on it. When he lets Ronnie go with a reluctant sigh – pure theater, of course – he turns to Eddie.

The man holds out his hand and Neal takes it, and pulls Eddie into his arms and growls, "You don't think I'm not going to take a bit of what you promised me?" This isn't a tone he normally uses, but then he rarely feels the need to dominate. Hell, he rarely _wants_ to, but there is something about Eddie that pushes that button, hard. He kisses Eddie the way he used to imagine Peter kissing _him_ and there's nothing gentle about it. As he pushes his tongue into Eddie's mouth, Neal slides a leg between Eddie's thighs, maneuvering them back against a wall, pinning Eddie's left hand over his head, against the cold brick. 

The position is optimal and Neal doesn't hesitate to take advantage. He takes Eddie's watch off as smoothly as he'd removed Ronnie's and lets it slide down his jacket sleeve. As Eddie tries for Neal's phone with his free hand, Neal lifts Eddie's wallet and pockets it. He keeps kissing Eddie, grinding his thigh against Eddie's hard cock; when Neal bites down on Eddie's lip, he feels Eddie's cock leap against him.

That's the signal for Neal to step away.

They're both a little dazzled, but Eddie is panting, his eyes more than a bit little desperate. Neal feels Eddie's watch slide back down his jacket sleeve and it slips nicely into Neal's trouser pocket.

"Are you sure you can't meet us later?" Ronnie, her voice thick with lust, breaks the spell.

Neal shakes his head, his regret somewhat genuine. "No, and I expect I'll be unavailable for the next several weeks. You know, doing a little of this, a little of that."

Ronnie laughs a bit, Eddie is still dazed. Neal feels sorry for him. "I really do have to go." From the corner of his eye, he sees a black cab heading towards him. Neal holds out his hand and the Caffrey luck holds fast. The taxi light on the front window goes on as the car pulls over.

"Here's my card – " Ronnie holds out a business card, which Neal takes without looking at it. "If you find yourself free some Friday evening, give me a call. It'll be a package deal, of course." Ronnie elbows Eddie, who just grins.

Neal is, quite naturally, noncommittal. "I'll keep the pair of you in mind." He gets into the cab and shuts the door behind him.

The cabbie asks, "Where to?"

"Victoria Station, please." Neal's not getting on a train, but heading to a major transportation hub will stymie his pursuers. If he has any. 

He pulls out his cell phone and launches one of Mozzie's last apps – a radio frequency detector that does an excellent job of sniffing out bugs. It seems that both Ronnie and Eddie hadn't been touching him out of attraction. There's one bug on his jacket sleeve and another on the knee of his trousers. Neal puts both of them in a small RF blocking envelope he keeps in his wallet and says a small prayer of thanks to his old friend for being so insistently paranoiac.

The cab drops him off at Victoria Station and Neal takes another one to Waterloo Station. During the trip, he sends a terse text to Merlin, _What happened? You didn't show up._. 

Merlin doesn't respond.

Neal gets into a third cab to take him to King's Cross station, which puts him within walking distance of his home, and not that far from where he left Ronnie and Eddie, two hours earlier.

He's exhausted and annoyed when he lets himself into his flat, mis-keying the security code twice before getting it right. But the night's not quite over and done with. He wants to check out the data he'd cloned from Eddie's phone. 

Which reminds him of the wallet and the watches he'd taken.

Neal pulls the watches out of his pocket and examines them with growing concern. These are Bremonts, elegant and expensive and hard to find; the supply has always been constrained, even for hand-made Swiss watches. But what he's holding aren't just rare and understated trinkets, but gadgets straight out of a James Bond movie, complete with an amnesia dart setting. 

_Well, shit._

Eddie and Ronnie aren't well-trained assets, they aren't even contractors. They are Kingsman agents – Knights of the fucking Round Table. Agents that Neal – if Merlin's promise holds true – will be working with. 

Agents that he's just thoroughly humiliated.

Neal's phone buzzes with an incoming text. It's from Merlin.

_"Sorry I couldn't make it to the Silver Hare tonight. But all is good. The vote passed unanimously. Welcome to Kingsman, Tristan. Your investiture will be at four PM tomorrow. Be at the shop by noon, we'll have some things to discuss first."_

Neal glares at the screen. _Oh yes, we do._

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Two hours earlier...**

Eggsy's still reeling from Deschanel's kiss, so Roxy slaps him on the back of his head. "Snap out of it."

The pain helps and Eggsy shakes himself like JB coming in from the rain. "What the hell just happened?"

"We were played." Roxy looks furious. "The bastard knew we were after him and played us.

"At least I got a tracker on him." Eggsy had placed it on Deschanel's knee while they'd been at the bar.

"We both did. I put one on his jacket."

Eggsy goes to activate the transponder in his watch, except that his watch is missing. "Shit. He took my watch!"

Roxy does the same and stares at her naked wrist. "Fuck. He gone mine, too. That son of a bitch!"

Eggsy checks his breast pocket, his phone's still there, but his wallet's gone. "I don't believe it. He rolled us like we're a pair of rank amateurs."

The two of them stand there, staring at each other in disbelief and might have stayed there all night, except that both of their glasses chime with an incoming transmission. It's Merlin.

Eggsy looks at Roxy in horror and turns away – he doesn't want Merlin to see his expression through Roxy's glasses. Because they've really fucked this up. Not only didn't they get any information out of Deschanel, they lost very valuable tech – two Kingsman watches, two trackers, and a wallet full of cash and Kingsman issued fake ID – to a man who's likely planning to rob a major museum.

Maybe that can wait until tomorrow. "What's up, Merlin?"

_"Just checking in with ye, my favorite pair of ducklings. Did you make contact with Deschanel?"_

Eggsy is nothing if not loyal to his friends and does his best to keep Roxy out of the line of fire. "Yeah, but it was a bust, I kind of blew it. I think I overplayed it and Deschanel realized something was up. He got away before we could get his phone." While the glasses were probably recording, it's not likely that Merlin had been watching the feed – he's got too much on his plate to casually observe such a low priority operation.

_"Don't worry about it, Galahad. Figured this would be a long shot. Just wanted to give ye something to do, ye were getting antsy. "_

"Still…" Eggsy hates the idea of failing at _anything_. And Merlin's not going to be quite so blasé when Eggsy explains how Deschanel robbed them. "Um, Merlin?"

But before Eggsy can screw up the courage to tell his boss just how badly he'd fucked up, Merlin cuts him off. 

_"I said, don't worry about it. Ye and Lancelot should go home and get some rest. Ye'll both have new assignments soon, so catch up on yer sleep while ye have the chance. And don't forget about tomorrow – the investiture for Tristan's at four. I'd like ye and Lancelot to get here a bit early – around twelve thirty or so. It'll give ye a chance to meet the new lad."_

"Sure – that sounds good." _No, not really._ The last thing Eggsy's wants to spend any more time with one of Harry's protégés than he has to. And meeting him after getting a sound bollocksing – a well-deserved bollocksing – is not going to improve matters.

Roxy chimes in her agreement.

_"Then goodnight to both of ye. See ye tomorrow."_

"Will do, sir."

Merlin signs off and Eggsy pulls off his glasses. Roxy does the same and sums of the situation succinctly, "Well, we're fucked."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_Well, that had been a rather unexpected pleasure._

Merlin leans back in his chair and spreads his thighs, giving his arousal a chance to … breathe. He hasn't gotten hard from watching a honeypot in a quarter of a century. 

But then, his arousal isn't just from seeing Neal snog the living daylights out of both of his ducklings. It had been building the whole evening, from the moment Eggsy had spotted Neal at the bar to when he'd stolen both watches and quite possibly Eggsy's wallet. He probably shouldn't take so much pleasure in watching Neal put Eggsy and Roxy through the wringer, but he does.

Perhaps it's because Neal is – for all intents and purposes – _his_ candidate. _Merlin's_ candidate, although it had been Arthur who'd pushed the proposal through.

Merlin's always been fond of the lad; he'd like him even a dozen years ago, when Neal had been just a duckling himself. Harry had been absent for the entire duration of the Tristan trials, trying to shore up a faltering democracy in Central Europe, and after Neal had passed the loyalty test, Merlin had stepped in and they'd spend the final twenty-four hours together. It had been interesting, to say the least.

Watching Neal outplay Galahad and Lancelot, rebuffing their attempts to get his phone, to get the information that Marlin had tasked them with obtaining, had been the penultimate proof – to him – that Neal Caffrey has all of the skills a Kingsman is supposed to possess. Not that anything would have changed had Galahad and Lancelot succeeded in their assignment, unlikely a possibility that may be. Neal would still become Tristan tomorrow; he'd still take a seat at the Round Table and burn himself out saving the world. 

Tonight's test – and what happens tomorrow – is purely for Merlin's benefit. He wants to prove that his instincts about Neal Caffrey are correct. That Neal, despite his past – or maybe because of it – has earned his place as a Kingsman, favor or no favor.

His phone – the one that he's been using to stay in contact with Neal for the last few months – buzzes with an incoming text.

 _What happened? You didn't show up._.

Neal's well and truly pissed, which doesn't surprise Merlin at all. Otherwise, Neal would have called and they'd chat for a bit. Over the last few months, Merlin's grown to enjoy spending his free evenings pushing Neal to his intellectual limits. He'll miss that when Neal's ready for field work.

Merlin takes his time responding to Neal, who is doing an excellent job of eluding pursuers who are now home and in bed. He waits until Neal gets home before replying. And unlike Neal, Merlin's not so parsimonious with his reply, letting Neal know that he's made it, that he's a Kingsman by unanimous vote. 

Perhaps getting the news by text is a little anticlimactic, but there's going to be more than enough drama tomorrow to make up for it.

__

TO BE CONTINUED

**Author's Note:**

> There's so much more to come - the next story is how everyone deals with the fallout from Merlin's little games.


End file.
